


O Christmas Tree

by relic_amaranth



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, Reader-Insert, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2019-02-10 07:12:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12906834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/relic_amaranth/pseuds/relic_amaranth
Summary: Christmas can a) bring people together and b) be an emotional season . Both of them, in the case of you and Chuck, end up being good things.





	O Christmas Tree

**Author's Note:**

> Because the idea of Chuck being reluctantly dragged into Christmas celebrations amuses me. Set somewhat nebulously into the apocalypse period of S4/5. I did not consult a timeline so we’re just…gonna pretend there’s a Christmas somewhere in there even if there isn’t. [ /hand wavium] Cross-posted to tumblr.

You shake out the last of the glitter and admire your handiwork. You have all sorts of colorful, messily drawn trees and snow and Santa hats, and a reindeer you blotched so spectacularly that it’s so much your favorite you’re considering keeping it. Handmade cards are a pain but also a truly lost art and your holiday greetings are always going to be a lot more interesting than whatever anyone else sends.

“Uhhhh…”

You glance back to see Chuck, perfectly disheveled as always. No matter how much or how little sleep he gets he always looks like he’s rolled out of bed right down the stairs before realizing he has legs and must figure out how to walk on them. He’s standing pretty steadily right now, seemingly forgetting to act like a shuffling zombie as he stares at his kitchen table in confusion.

“Good morning Chuck!” you say brightly and knock off some excess glitter from your current card onto the piece of paper meant to catch the shining fallout. Some of it falls onto the table, as with every card before it. “Sleep well?”

“What are you doing?”

“Making Christmas cards.” You take one of the misplaced sequins, add some extra glue, and hold it in place.

“Why are you doing that in my house?”

“I came over to clean anyways, so what’s a little mess beforehand?” You point at the coffeepot with one hand while the other sifts through your pile of markers. “Go get caffeinated, Prophet Crankypants.”

He snorts but it sounds like he’s following your instructions. Ah yes, there’s the telltale slurping. Sometimes you wonder if he was born in a barn, or if he just abandoned all pretenses at manners over the years.

“Seriously though; it had to be glitter?”

You glance up to see him leaning against the counter, visibly judging your art space from a sparkle-safe distance. You blow a raspberry at him and go back to work. He is so not getting the reindeer. “Keep it up and it’ll be glitter in your hair tomorrow morning.”

“I’ll sic my archangel on you.”

“Pretty sure ‘throwing glitter on God’s smartass mouthpiece’ isn’t in the Bible as a smite-able offense.”

“It could be,” he said and we both laughed at that.

I shook my head and carefully set out the last of my cards to dry and set. “You have a strange life, my friend.”

“You're telling me,” he huffed. “I’m still surprised you actually believe me.”

You shrug, trying not to stiffen up at the unpleasant remembrance of that balding piece of–… “Yeah well, angels don’t fuck around.”

“Oh.” Chuck puts the mug to his lips. “Right.”

You push away the memory of the night the angels had ‘warned’ you away from Chuck. How, despite the suits and sleaze, their very presence had almost made you collapse in terror. But, you reason with yourself as you start to pick up, you haven’t been smote yet, and they haven’t come back to otherwise put you in the dirt. That’s good enough for you.

Chuck has migrated over to a chair at the table to get out of your way. He morosely sips at his coffee and you pull out the cleaning supplies. “So,” you say and he jumps at the sound. Scared-y Chuck, you think and stifle a laugh. “Where are we going to put the tree?”

He looks suspiciously at you. “What tree?”

“The one I’m using to start an indoor forest.” Chuck is both one of the smartest men you’ve ever met and also so incredibly dense sometimes. You give him a look that, hopefully, gets that message across. “The Christmas tree, silly.”

He crinkles his nose in that way that is not cute, no sirree. And if you keep telling yourself that, maybe one day it will be true. “You’re doing that again?” he says. “Wait– why do I have to have a Christmas tree?”

“I do it every year. Also, you having a Christmas tree is my best idea ever. It’s basically an air freshener big enough to chase out the stale booze smell.” You shrug like it’s nothing but you’re actually feeling into this. Maybe Chuck just needs a little holiday cheer to perk up. “Also, I can’t have a decent-sized tree in my place so I never get to use all my ornaments. It’s a win-win.”

“Trees shed,” Chuck says sullenly.

“The day you pull out a vacuum is the day I…well, I don’t know. But I want video proof if it ever happens,” you say and scrub at a crusted-on you-don’t-even-want-to-know-what. Still, if that’s his only argument then you’re in pretty good shape. You finish sanitizing this half of the counter and turn to look at him. “I’m not gonna force you to celebrate, of course, but you seemed all right around my stuff last year and…I dunno, it just seems like a nice way to spruce the place up, y’know?”

He snorts and hides laughter into his cup. When you give him a look he pulls up to say, “‘Spruce.’”

“Oh.” You laugh a little. “That was totally unintentional.”

“Yeah, sure.” He puts his cup down and claps his hands together. “All right. I’ll uh…I’ll get dressed and we’ll go.”

“Go where?”

“To get the Christmas tree,” he says, like it’s obvious. He frowns and gives you a look that is so ‘oh honey’ that he doesn’t even have to say it. “If the tree’s going in my house then I’m going to help pick it out.”

You want to rag on him for being a smartass again. As you always do. But a smile grows on your face without your control, and when he smiles too you have no hope of containing it. He’s in, and for some reason you feel incredibly good about this season. “Okay. Okay! I’ll, um…I’ll just wait here then.”

 

~~

For being so ‘blah humbug’ before, Chuck is surprisingly picky about his tree. Your own small tree is already loaded into the back of your truck and you’re standing here, helping him look over almost every branch of his current pick.

“Chuck, I’m telling you, I know a good Christmas tree when I see one and this? This is perfect,” you say and tug on a full, healthy branch. He’s getting this one if it’s the last thing you do, if only because that rude bitch that almost crashed into you (and had the nerve to honk!) is eyeing it up and down.

“Yeah…yeah, this is a good one,” Chuck says and you and the salesman sag equally with relief. You show your smug smile to the lady and when she flips you off you just grin. As you’re walking out Chuck nudges you and says, “Is it really the best tree ever or did you just not want that woman to win?”

“Both. Bitch can’t drive but she knows how to pick a tree,” you say and flash him a smile over your shoulder. “Definitely a win-win!”

Chuck laughs and you both hop in the car. You immediately get the heater going and you freeze (figuratively) when he leans closer to you. You wonder if he’s really that cold, or if he’s going to–

His door slams shut and when he leans back in his seat you relax. The relief is expected but the disappointment is…annoying. You take said annoyance out on the car as you shift into drive and pull out onto the road.

“Speaking of trees,” Chuck says. “The, uh…the tree-lighting ceremony is tonight. Do you want to go?”

You glance at him in surprise. You practically had to drag him out by his ankles last year to get him to go. “You sure you want to?”

He raises his eyebrows at you. “Last year you threatened to cut my arms off if I didn’t let go of the doorway.”

Oh yeah. ‘Practically’ was more ‘literally’, as he had desperately grabbed at anything not to have to go. “My point exactly. You couldn’t stand the thought of going last year. What gives now?”

He shrugs and looks out the window. “Well if I’m doing Christmas this year I might as well do it right, right?” He looks at you and smiles. The expression stirs something in you and you focus on the road. “Besides…the hot chocolate was okay, and it was funny when they knocked over that giant Santa.”

“Half the fun is watching the inevitable disaster,” you agree. “But…are you sure you wanna spend that much time with me?”

“Definitely,” he says, and you spend the rest of the drive trying not to read much into that.

 

~~

It’s getting really hard not to read into things. Or, more accurately, inappropriately fantasize about things. You dressed warm but nice and Chuck– Chuck has showered and smells like cologne and it’s driving you a little crazy because he had clammed up when you asked about it and now all you can think of is that this is what a date with Chuck would be like. Complete with fumbling to pay for the hot chocolate and stonewalled awkward silence.

It’s a little less awkward now. You’re both sitting on a bench, with a couple respectable inches between you, and you’re playing a game of ‘how many city council members does it take to plug in some Christmas lights?’ The crew that set up the tree is even helping try to figure it out and the crowd is milling about and talking amongst themselves. This is a return to familiarity for you, and you begin to relax for the first time tonight.

“This is nice,” Chuck says. His sincere tone makes you feel like you’re fumbling again. Chuck has a way of pulling the rug out from under you, though you doubt he knows it.

“I like the tree too but it always looks better when they’re done fumbling around,” you say.

“No. I mean, this. Sitting here with you. Sometimes I wonder why you…”

You’re burning with curiosity but you don’t take the bait. But then he says your name in a way that completely grabs your attention and he looks at you like he’s just figuring something out. “Why…” He looks down but quickly forces himself to look back up at you. “Why are you always so good to me?”

Sipping your drink is a good way to hide the lump you have to swallow. “What kind of question is that?” you ask as normally, as calmly as you can. “You’re my best friend.”

“Is that really it?” His stare is more intense than you remember it ever being. Now is time to panic. He knows. He knows.

Shit shit shit. “Why? Why ask? You– you already know, don’t you?” you ask. This is…something. You feel sick, like this is leading up to the rejection of the century. This is why you never wanted to say anything. You want things to stay as they are; you want to keep your friend in whatever way you can. 

When the angels had come to you with their ‘message’ Chuck had tried to push you out of his life, for your safety. Both of you had been terrified, saying and shouting things neither of you meant, but you had fought tooth and nail until he accepted you weren’t going anywhere. You had realized then that you didn’t want to lose him, no matter what happened, because this –sitting in a cold park, sipping watered-down hot cocoa, occasionally looking over and seeing Chuck laugh at a joke you made– this is all you’ve ever really wanted. Unambitious, most likely, probably even a little pathetic, but it’s enough for you.

“I want to hear you say it. So…why?” he repeats, not letting up on his stare. It’s almost like he can see right through you and you turn your face away as your mind races. 

“Because…” Your throat feels thick and you look at him again. He’s waiting, and you swallow. “Because the day the angels told me to get lost was the most terrifying day of my life,” you say. Chuck opens his mouth and you put a hand on it. “Not because they threatened to turn me into paste but because they almost took you away from me.”

He pulls your hand down. “(Y/n)–”

“Shut up. You wanted to hear this? You’re going to hear this,” you say and wait. He’s quiet. And looking at you with enough sincerity to almost make your stomach turn inside out. “Why? Because. Because I like you so much that watching you slowly destroy yourself makes me want to throw up. Because I hate to see you hurting. Ever. Because…sometimes you give me a reason to get up when going through the motions isn’t enough anymore. Because I like being around you, I like being able to help you. Because you help me without even knowing it. Because if I could have kept this to myself forever I would have. Because even being just your friend is better than not having you at all.”

Chuck moves closer to you and puts his gloved hands to your cold cheeks. You’re confused momentarily until the meaning comes across, and you try to jerk back. He holds your face though and you say, “Chuck, you– you don’t have to–”

“Shut up,” he breathes and pulls you in and proceeds to kiss you senseless. Not that it’s hard– just feeling his hands cup your face has your hands flailing between pushing him away or figuring out where to settle. You eventually rest them on his sides and Chuck takes that as encouragement, by the way he slides closer to you. You give in, then, your mind whiting out heavenly warnings and your own fears and nightmare ‘but what if’s so that you can give in to the moment. It’s just you, and him, togeth–

A cheer breaks out and you and Chuck pull away simultaneously. The tree is lit and one of the councilwomen is looking quite proud of herself as the mayor finally takes the podium. You and Chuck share a smile as he begins to talk into a microphone that isn’t working.

“I changed my mind. I can make better hot cocoa than this,” Chuck says and dumps his cup in the trash. “You…wanna come over?”

“Is tinsel the most aggravating Christmas decoration in existence?” you say and hop up. As you walk off, arm in arm, you lean into him, heart fit to burst. “Merry Christmas, Chuck.”

He leans into you. “Merry Christmas, (y/n).”


End file.
